The science of Eurovision aka most desperate press release since the last one. Have you no shame, BBC Online? (rhetorical qn). Here – speak o revelator!! – are the ‘seven crucial elements’ to Eurovision success:

i) two of these elements are THE SAME
ii) as opposed to all the Eurovision entries which never finished and are still going on to this day
iii) a perfect chorus – v. helpful advice this
iiii) he’s right about the key change though.

The ‘physiologist and music expert’ then explains why “Waterloo” is the best:

“The main thrust of the song, the word Waterloo, is just three syllables long and then there’s a lot of space for it to become both memorable and emotionally evocative.”

i sorta plan to post more on this – or maybe not, sigh – but for the moment all i shall say abt that C4 abi titmuss doc is that when mr rod liddle declared that the AT phenom marked the arrival at sensible maturity of british sex, i i had to note that this be an arrival which depends on i. the um judgment of the respective editors of ZOO, NUTS and FHM, and ii. the editor of NUTS is a chap w.a face EXACTLY RESEMBLING an old man’s ball-sack

– TaTu completely fucking up the performance of their magnificent “Ne Ver Ne Bojsia”, and promptly disappearing forever.
– Me going to a really terrific Eurovision party round Magnus’ place.
– The astonishing Ruffus singing the Steely Dan-styled “Eighties Comin Back”
– A good song winning!
– Lots of other actually good songs being entered. This was one of them, from Iceland, a ginormous pop chest-beater the likes of which actual pop stars don’t have the gall to make any more. Or maybe they would like to make them but know that nobody would buy them.

In fact I think it was the best Eurovision ever. Tomorrow might just beat it though as the 2003 Eurovision final lacked – through no fault of its own – several other key elements:

– An afternoon drinking watching the FA Cup Final.
– The presence of an enormous meat-smoking machine, with attendant meat.
– Doctor Who on the telly with Richard Wilson and a zeppelin!

In Tomb Raider (the game), Lara Croft’s guns are auto-aiming. Basically if she can see it, she can shoot it. This leads to a particular set of moves when she is fighting anyone or any creature particularly difficult. You make her jump around. A lot. It makes you harder to hit and does not affect her shooting.

It was nice therefore to see an homage to this in the recent Star Wars filum. As this is exactly the same fighting style as Yoda. Yoda is however prone to talking in the most annoying style EVAH and less easy on the eye than Ms Croft.

I realised last night that one of the things I enjoy about Eurovision is that it seems like a museum of pop: leaving aside the more ersatz ethnic elements liberally spooned over some of the entrants, this is mostly an extraordinary collage of past and present pop styles, often in the course of the same entry. The only country not to make it through the semi-final that NYLPM readers might have enjoyed was Estonia — whose Vanilla Ninja DID get through, as Switzerland’s representative, although with a fairly weak slice of eyeliner-metal. Suntribe’s ‘Let’s Get Loud’ could best be described as spice-girls-aloud, and their stage show was basically 5-deck DJ action, with each member of the group posing with a single turntable and some brightly coloured 12″s as props, before emerging in the final stages for the usual choreographed showdown. Other entries to look out for on Saturday night, on the strength of their showing yesterday: Norway’s Wig-Wam (tasty soup of every hardrock staple ever: spandex catsuit — check; enormous headband — check; scarves on mic stand — check; pilot’s / officer’s peaked hat — check; fat drummer — check; erm… leather cowboy? — check); Romania, whose steel-drum and beer-keg bashing antics came on like one of the more arty Pet Shop Boys stage shows, before out came the angle-grinders for full on Faust / Neubaten racket; Moldova’s horrid Leveller’s-style ska-punk-folk crusty-convoy-hop; Hungary’s gypsy caravan / glam racket collision; and Israel, whose singer’s cleavage has totally erased any recollection of what the song was like.

Time Machine

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